


Mirror Images

by TerribleAndRed



Series: Twin Peaks [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, GOT7, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Biting, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Gen, GoT, Hair Kink, House Lannister, Incest, Long Hair, Oral Sex, POV Jaime Lannister, Queen Cersei Lannister, Sad, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Trichophilia, Twin Peaks - Freeform, Twincest, Twins, cersei lannister - Freeform, jaime lannister - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleAndRed/pseuds/TerribleAndRed
Summary: A "Game of Thrones" fanfiction that provides an alternative take on Jaime and Cersei's reunion after Myrcella's death and Cersei's Walk of Atonement in season 6, episode 1.  Both twins come to terms with what they've lost, and use the regenerative power of their love to feel whole again.





	Mirror Images

****_ Author's note: I was always frustrated that when Jaime saw Cersei for the first time in season 6 ep1, he had no reaction to her horrible new hair. He’s been sleeping with her for like 40 years and doesn’t notice or care? Anyways, this fic is a “deleted scene” that explores how he feels seeing the love of his life so radically transformed, looking more like his mirror image than ever.  _

 

He had failed them. The two women he loved more than anything. The daughter he only got to hold as a father for mere seconds. And his wi—no, not his wife, he constantly had to remind himself. They’d been two parts of one whole since childhood, and he could hardly remember a time when her arms hadn’t provided him with his greatest comfort and pleasure. But no, she was not his wife. She could never be his wife. And now, she might want him dead, for failing their daughter.

As Jaime ascended to the mast of the boat carrying Myrcella’s body, he felt a twinge of fear when he considered what his sister might do to him for letting her die.  _ No, she could never hurt me _ , he thought, but Cersei was ruthless.  _ With another child gone, who knows what she might be capable of? _

As he walked up the steps, however, he felt another sort of twinge run through him—this time, one of arousal.  _ No, I can’t feel this way as I bring her our dead daughter, _ he chided himself, but it had been months since he had seen Cersei and he couldn’t help himself. He pictured her standing on the rocks, waiting for the boat to arrive as her lioness mane blew behind her, tousled by the wind. He imagined stroking those seemingly endless golden waves with his one good hand as he comforted her and vowed revenge on those responsible for this atrocity. He could feel his hand in her hair, raking his fingers from its roots to the tips that curled at the bottom of her back, falling around and framing her supple backside. Myrcella was gone, but the woman he loved, whose golden mane Myrcella had inherited, was still alive. And he would do everything he could to keep her that way— them and Tommen were the only people in the world that mattered.

Jaime tepidly walked up the steps to the mast of the small boat as it approached the harbor, setting his face into a stoic expression. He expected to see Cersei waiting on the rocks, but she wasn’t there. From afar, he spotted someone in a brocaded red robe, with a cap of short golden hair. It was Cersei’s robe. His heart raced—had she been killed, raped, her belongings pillaged and spread amongst peasants who had taken over the Red Keep in rebellion? His sister had never exactly been beloved by the masses, and with the High Sparrow now in power, that religious fanatic could have set off a rebellion. Maybe this was the end of the Lannister legacy, and soon his hand won’t be the only part of him gone.

He squinted as the boat approached the shore to assess the stranger, but as the boat pulled closer in, his heart stopped racing—it stopped beating completely. For the stranger was no stranger. It was the woman he had loved his whole life, but….her hair was gone. That lucious lioness mane that he knew he could always bury his face in whenever he needed comfort, gone, with only wisps of gold framing the green eyes that filled with tears as she saw the casket in the boat. Jaime cast his eyes downwards to hide his shock and, quite frankly, his horror.  _ What could have possibly happened? _ he asked himself.  _ Is this how she felt when she saw me maimed for the first time? _ He remembered the look of revulsion on her face as he had stepped into the doorway, his stump on full display. He remembered the shame he felt, how incomplete he felt seeing his true love look at him with disdain.  _ No, I must not let her feel the way I felt that day _ , he thought.  _ There must be a reason for this—she had not heard of Myrcella’s death yet, so she could not have grabbed a pair of shears in a fit of blind rage and hacked off her crowning glory _ . _ She has always said she should have been born a man, but is too vain to have ever done this to herself. _ He’d had strange feelings about men before—Arthur Dayne, the Blackfish—but never could bring himself to fantasize about anyone lacking Cersei’s feminine, silken locks.

As the boat pulled up, Jaime leapt out and ran up to this strange woman—oh yes, the curves of her body were still all woman, even with her greatest glory gone. She looked at him, eyes brimming with tears, and grabbed him in a tight hug. It was one that could pass as any normal hug between a grieving brother and sister in the eyes of the observing guards, but then she grabbed the back of his hair—her signature move—passionately, and he slowly embraced her fully and squeezed her body tightly. He let his good hand travel up her back, no longer covered in masses of hair, and raked his fingers over the newly-bare nape of her neck, rubbing it gently, discovering the tender flesh that had been hidden since their early childhood.

They pulled apart. Cersei’s face was streaked with tears but her gaze stayed locked with his. “I failed her,” he said. “I failed you.” “Oh no, Jaime,” she said, and began stroking the back of her newly-shorn head. “And to think,” she said, with the start of a smirk forming on her lips as she pointed to her sad, cropped head, “that  _ this _ was what I was most worried about causing us grief when you returned. Let’s go to my chambers, shall we? You can tell me what happened. And I have much to tell you.”  _ I can only imagine _ , he thought, as Cersei gave the crew instructions on where to take their daughter’s body, trying to hold in her tears and remain regal. It was only when they were alone together that she could show her full grief, a grief that Jaime now knew encompassed losing not only her daughter, but also her power. As the crew looked at her in shock, thinking  _ what happened to our beautiful queen? _ , Cersei grabbed Jaime’s good hand and led him into her private chamber.

As he walked behind her, he remembered all the times he had sat on their bed—it was never her and Robert’s bed, really—watching admiringly from behind as she combed out her golden tresses sitting at the boudoir, and he’d approach her from behind and run up and excitedly grab her with desire, making her giggle like the little girl he once knew. He’d spin her around and pull her hair around her waist like ropes, drawing her closer to him. Songs had been written about that magnificent mane; it made her the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms. But as they ascended the steps of the Red Keep with their hands intertwined, he couldn’t help but feel a pit of despair in his stomach while looking at the sad, wispy strands at the back of her head .  _ Whoever did this will receive my wrath _ , he vowed.

In her chambers, they sat awkwardly a foot apart and looked at each other in silence. “I’m not sure which of us should go first...clearly a lot has happened,” he said. Cersei inhaled deeply. “You don’t need to tell me what happened to Myrcella. I know. Those vipers were always out to get her. Our brother sent her away to Dorne, he killed our father, and all the vipers and the vultures swooped in and took everything we had.” “And you,” Jaime asked, with trepidation, for he still feared incurring her wrath, “who took what you had?”

She self-consciously stroked the back of her head again, and he inched closer as she began to tell him the story of her imprisonment, the days without food, wine, or sleep, and the desperation that had led her to finally concede defeat to the High Sparrow and confess— “but not about us, never”— to a small fraction of her many sins. “Then they brought me back to my chamber, stripped me naked, and…” her green eyes shone with rage like wildfire “they took my crown...they put me in that cell to steal my power, and then they stole my other crown from me, too.” She told him how she kept her head raised high as they sheared off her mane, its gold glittering even when heaped as a pile on the floor of the dingy dark cell. “I even laughed for a moment as I thought, what will poor Jaime think of me now? But the Septa hit me when I laughed,” she said, a smirk forming on her face but then falling. And then she told him about the humiliation, how she was paraded through the streets naked “like a whore, like what father did to grandfather’s mistress.” Jaime’s heart beat with fury, and he grabbed her arms as she stoically (but with those green eyes concealing apparent despair) continued her horrifying story. Her naked body, the body that was his to love and worship, being paraded and degraded, having shit thrown at it, while the peasants yelled slurs at their true queen. It was too much for him to take, and his head fell into her lap. 

She stroked his head while looking down upon him softly. “I told myself I would not cringe for them but…the more they threw at me, the more I fell…” “You don’t have to go on,” Jaime interjected. He sat up, grabbed her by the back of her shorn head, and pulled it closer to his. Her jawline was more striking than ever, her cheekbones more prominent, and her eyes flashed with passion as she said “You are a lion. I am a lioness. And hair…” “grows back” they said together. He pulled her head in for a deep kiss, stroking the wispy back of her head tenderly, then more aggressively. The newly-grown hair felt so soft, so new and unfamiliar.  _ They tried taking our best parts away, but we are still lions _ ,  _ we will always be lions,  _ he thought to himself, as he pushed her onto the bed. After some more passionate kissing, Cersei, ever the domme, flipped herself over him and started taking off his clothes. Once he was naked, she shook off her robe.  _ Now she’s more naked than ever,  _ Jaime thought, staring at her breasts unobstructed by endless masses of hair. She looked a bit like a boy...but she was still every inch a woman. He took her by the back and pulled her on top of him, running his hand through her soft, short waves as he thrust inside her. “I was not whole without you,” he whispered into her ear, and as he did so, he played with the newly-exposed ear. He’d never noticed how delicate and lovely it was, too distracted by her hair to notice, but now he rubbed it gently between his fingers, and she swooped down and bit his ear. He moaned and bit his lip, and she laughed happily at seeing his familiar gesture. He continued thrusting while she from above she continued kissed him, bit his neck, grabbed his hair, and he grabbed what was left of hers in return. She flinched momentarily, and he felt her body shudder: was it a shudder of shame or pleasure? After he came, he slid his body down hers, into his usual position with his mouth at the opening of her vulva, where golden hairs bristled. Jaime stroked her body as he eat her out with all the intensity of a lion eating its prey, and she moaned loudly enough, they both hoped, for that peasant septon and all the Dornishmen to cringe at.  _ Let them cringe _ , Jaime thought, as Cersei climaxed.

Afterwards, she lay huddled in his arms, the pleasure of their unison undercut by the memory of their lost daughter. He continued to rub the bare space behind her ears as her tears fell onto his chest, her head placed upon it. “Fuck everyone who isn't us,” he murmured into her ear. “We're the only ones who matter, the only ones in this world. And everything they've taken from us, we're going to take back and more. We're going to take everything there is.” Cersei gazed upwards and looked directly into Jaime’s stare. “Oh yes,” she said, those wildfire eyes gleaming.

“We will show them what Lannisters are, what we do to our enemies. Fuck anyone who isn’t us indeed, but right now, there’s only one person I want to fuck...” They embraced, and he ruffled her hair. It would take some getting used to—a lot of getting used to— but her hair, and their power, would be back soon. The lions would roar again.   
  
  



End file.
